Chapter 7 - The Sunrise
Six months later.
The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp earth. I stood on the porch of the cabin, holding two ceramic mugs of black coffee.
The old pickup truck was parked in the yard, its hood propped open. A pair of legs in worn blue jeans was sticking out from under the chassis.
“Hand me the three-quarter wrench, will you?” a voice called out from under the truck.
I smiled, walking down the steps. I set the coffee on the fender, picked up the wrench from the toolbox, and slid it under the truck. A grease-stained hand reached out and took it.
A moment later, Sarah rolled out on the mechanic's creeper. She wiped a smudge of oil off her forehead with the back of her sleeve and sat up, taking a deep breath of the mountain air.
Her hair had grown out into a stylish, shoulder-length bob. The dark circles under her eyes were gone. She had put on weight, and her skin held a healthy, sun-kissed glow. But most importantly, the haunted look in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a fierce, quiet strength.
“Got the alternator swapped out,” she said, taking a sip of the hot coffee. “She should run like a dream now.”
“You do good work, kid,” I said, leaning against the side of the truck.
The news had stopped covering the Sterling trial weeks ago. Eleanor and Jason had both pled guilty to avoid a drawn-out federal trial. The cartel, furious over the exposed ledgers, had seized the rest of their hidden assets. Eleanor was serving twenty years in a maximum-security federal penitentiary. Jason got twenty-five. They would never see a country club or a penny of that stolen wealth again.
A massive restitution fund was established for the victims of their financial fraud. Sarah had received a significant settlement, which she used to buy this little piece of heaven in the mountains, far away from the mansions and the fake smiles. She was starting a foundation of her own, one that provided legal aid and safe housing for women escaping abusive marriages.
“You okay?” Sarah asked, noticing me staring off into the trees.
I looked down at her. “Just thinking about how proud your mother would be.”
Sarah smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that warmed the cold morning air. She stood up, wrapping her arms around my neck, resting her head against my chest.
“I love you, Dad,” she whispered.
I hugged her back, resting my chin on top of her head. The anger, the violence, the cold tactical mindset—all of it faded away, locked back into the dark box where it belonged. I was no longer the wolf. I was just a father in flannel.
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“I love you too, sweetie,” I said, looking up at the sunrise breaking over the mountain ridge. “Now come on. Let’s fire this old truck up and see if she runs.”
We climbed into the cab together. Sarah turned the key, and the engine roared to life, steady and strong.
